


Captian John Watson

by inkinmyheartandonthepage



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Gang Violence, It's For a Case, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:57:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkinmyheartandonthepage/pseuds/inkinmyheartandonthepage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Shot AU- Most of Scotland Yard was confused by John Watson. He was so plain, so docile and so normal that they were shocked to find that maybe he really wasn’t.  BAMF!John, Johnlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captian John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much to say only that I apologize for any mistakes and I would love to hear what you guys thought so please leave a comment or a kudos :) Happy reading!

**Captain John Watson**

* * *

 

**Lestrade**

The moment John Watson stepped into the sand covered ring of the underground fighting ring everything Lestrade had ever through of the man had went out the window.

 

Their latest case had led them to an ex-military underground fighting ring and the next thing Lestrade knew was he was standing ringside with Donovan, Anderson and Sherlock while John Watson was pushed into the ring shirtless.

 

Under all the thick woolen jumpers and _trust-me-I’m-a-doctor_ smile was a man who was clearly fit. Toned body with the outline of a six pack adorning his abdomen, strong looking arms with the muscles strained with each clench of John’s hands, and if he hadn’t of been wearing long pants Lestrade expected to find very muscular thighs.

 

His opponent was at least twice his height and looked twice as thick. He was covered in tattoos and scars that screamed missions that were higher then his pay grade.

 

For the first time he saw John’s own scars. The most obvious one was the bullet wound that covered most of his left shoulder. The pink and white scar was raised and from Lestrade’s experience he could see that John had removed the bullet himself. It was massive and drew the eye of nearly everyone around the ring. There were smaller scars on his torso and Lestrade wondered just how much John Watson had seen on his tour in Afghanistan.

 

John’s opponent spat at his feet, grinning around broken teeth and charged.

 

Lestrade cringed, waiting for the brutal attack to land on John.

 

It never came.

 

What John lacked in height he made up in speed and he easily dodged the man’s attack, twisting his body and landing a punch to the kidneys. He danced away, jumping on the balls of his feet and stretching his neck from side to side.

 

“Bloody hell,” Lestrade groaned as the opponent growled and went at John again.

 

John ducked the swinging fist but he didn’t see the second one and it collided in his stomach. He gasped, hunching forward and but struck out, punching the man in the thigh and rearing his head back, knocking the other man in the jaw.

 

His opponent howled and swung out with his fist, colliding with John’s nose. Blood spurted out and John spat on the ground, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand.

 

There was a cold and maliciousness that Lestrade had never seen in John. The way his eyes were cold, his jaw set in a cold and cruel smile. Lestrade had known men home from war but seeing them in the ring, it was like they were back on the front line. War was nothing he could have ever imagined.

 

The men on the side who were ex-military were cheering loudly and goading one another, yelling curse words that Lestrade even cringed too.

 

He looked over at Donovan and Anderson and saw them looking as dumbstruck as he felt. His eyes moved over to Sherlock who was watching with his mouth partly open and his eyes alight. He had never seen admiration on the man before so it took him a moment to realize the expression.

 

John Watson had impressed Sherlock Holmes. This was not an ordinary man as he had once believed.

* * *

 

 

**Donovan**

Sally gasped as John lunged at the man. He feinted right and then moved left punching his opponent in the jaw and smacked him away using the own mans’ weight against him.

 

Sweat was already pouring off the two of them. John pushed his hair back from his face and spat a mouthful of blood into the sand. His nose was still bleeding from the first hit but John was ignoring it so now blood dripped down onto his chest, mixing with the sweat that caused a sheen over his torso.

 

His opponent was like a wild tiger and he leapt at John. Sally gasped as John was punched in the stomach, doubling him over, and the smacked hard on the back making him drop to the floor.

 

The man wasn’t finished.

 

Sally covered her mouth as he drew back his foot to kick John –

 

John grabbed his ankle mid air and _yanked_.

 

His opponent hopped until his weight was too much and he smacked down hard on his back.

 

John pushed himself up and Sally could already see a bruise forming on his stomach. If John was winded he didn’t show it, his eyes tracing every movement of his opponent as the toothless man got to his feet.

 

“Get up,” John said – no, John _commanded._

 

Sally’s eyes widened even further as the man obeyed the order and got to his feet. She never would have thought John an imposing man. He was shorter than most – shorter than her – and always just seemed to blend into the background.

 

Sherlock always commanded a room with his bizarre enthusiasm for murder, his cold and unemotional demeanor and the way he moved around the crime scene elegantly despite his long limbs. With Sherlock around John often went unnoticed in the background. Sometimes Sally didn’t notice him there until Sherlock dragged him into the conversation.

 

But for the first time _John_ was commanding the room.

 

She didn’t think it was possible but he was holding himself higher, making himself look larger. Each move was calculated and he looked truly frightening with blood running down the front of him.

 

Sally realized that she was frightened of John Watson; the man who wore woolen jumpers, who said please and thank you and apologized for Sherlock’s behavior.

 

Fists collided with skin, blood sprayed out across the audience and the crack of bones breaking.

 

Sally cringed at the sounds but couldn’t tare her eyes away from the fight.

 

She wondered who John Watson really was.

* * *

 

 

**Anderson**

Anderson could only gape at the fight in front of him. He wasn’t supposed to be there but Lestrade had brought him because they feared there could be more dead bodies around waiting to be disposed off.

 

He had never really paid much attention to John Watson before. If he was mad enough to hang around Sherlock Holmes then there was something clearly wrong with the man.

 

His whole jaw dropped as he watched John grab his opponent around the neck and brought his knee up _hard_ into the other man’s chest. He did it so hard that he could hear the man’s ribs break. Only did he stop when the other man gripped John’s scarred shoulder and pushed hard.

 

John growled around clenched teeth and pushed the man away. It was the first time that John showed any pain and Anderson felt himself wincing at the way John hunched forward, cradling his arm.

 

His opponent saw this and he charged at John, going for his shoulder.

 

“Look out!” Anderson yelled but it was lost over the cheering crowd.

 

Anderson found himself yelling and cheering when John side stepped him and kicked out his leg, tripping his opponent and causing him to fall flat on his face. It shouldn’t have surprised Anderson how adaptable John was but Anderson had never really bothered to _observe_ John Watson and he realized he should have.

 

John was scowling at his opponents back as he got to his feet and John straightened his shoulder, grimacing in pain.

 

His opponent wasn’t faring much better but he too was gritting his teeth and they two circled one another, waiting for one to make a move.

John moved first, charging at the man and striking him with a well aimed punch to his opponents broken ribs.

 

The man howled with pain but brought his foot up and kicked John in the thigh. John went down and went flying when the man kicked John in the stomach.

 

The crowd went wild and Anderson prayed that John got up.

* * *

 

**Sherlock**

John wasn’t moving. His face was pressed into the sand and the crowd was yelling and screaming around him.

 

_Get up,_ Sherlock through frantically. _Get up!_

He had been watching every move, trying to anticipate the Doctors every move but as usual John was a constant surprise. He had seen his blogger in anger – the quite seething, the smooth lines of his face and the way his whole body would shut down. Sherlock had never seen this kind of anger before.

 

Someone shoved into him and his pushed back and snarled.

 

John’s opponent was walking towards him, his whole body screaming smugness that Sherlock didn’t like. His whole body was tense and he was about to vault over the makeshift fence when he felt firm hands holding him back.

 

“No, Sherlock,” Lestrade voice invaded his ears.

 

He pushed Lestrade off. “No, John!”

 

But he would never reach him in time. His opponent had already reached him and was raising his foot to bring it down on John’s head.

 

“John!” Sherlock yelled.

 

His whole body froze, his heart beating to hard and fast in his chest. His John, his blogger, his _friend_ and it was all his fault. He couldn’t lose John, not now, not ever and certainly not like this.

 

The ex-military man brought his foot down –

 

And John rolled under the man, the boot missing him by an inch. John reached up and grabbed the man by the balls, squeezing hard. The man crippled but John wasn’t finished moving.

 

John rolled himself up, elbowing the man in the back of his head and bringing him down to his knees. He grabbed his opponent around the neck and put him in a chokehold. The toothless man’s face was going red as he slapped at John’s arms but the ex-army doctor was holding tight.

 

Just as the man was about to lose consciousness John let the man go. John watched him calmly as his opponent struggled to get to his feet. John pulled back his hand and punched him.

 

The toothless man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

 

The crowd went silent for a beat before it erupted into a roar of jeering and cursing.

 

Sherlock let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. His whole body was vibrating with the effort of standing still as he watched John stride towards them. The crowd parted, allowing John to vault over the edge of the ring.

 

Sherlock reached out to touch him, to get physical data that _his John_ was okay but a sharp look from John had his hands re-treating back to his side. He understood. People were watching, people who wouldn’t have liked what John did tonight and could use anything against him.

 

“John,” Sherlock said, trying to convey so much into one word. His emotions were beginning to overwhelm him and he wasn’t sure what to do.

 

As always, John saw this. “Let’s go. Now.”

 

He still had that commanding tone that made Sherlock shiver. He saw Anderson, Donovan and Lestrade stand to attention. They moved through the crowd that were collecting bets and arguing over the fight. Some people patted John on the back while other sneered and one man even spat on John.

 

Sherlock saw it but made no move to stop John.

 

John pulled back his hand and punched the man who spat him the face making him reel back into the crowd behind him.

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” John said in the calmest and deadliest voice.

 

Nobody dared approached.

 

“John, let’s go,” Sherlock said, moving him forward with a hand placed on the small of his back. The contact of skin on skin made them both shudder and John started moving again.

 

They didn’t stop until they were out of the tunnels and had put a good distance between them. Only once they had stop did John start to shiver and Sherlock reached into the bag he had been carrying with him and pulled out a shirt and jumper for John.

 

“Thanks,” John said, giving him a tired smile and he pulled the clothes on, concealing his wounds and once again transforming him back into the John that everyone saw. Only now they knew what laid beneath the jumpers.

 

“Christ,” Lestrade was the first to speak, running a hand through his greying hair. His voice was hoarse and he looked shaken. “That was…that was…”

 

“Enlightening,” Sherlock said. “Shouldn’t take long to shut down the ring though I wouldn’t bother. They’ll find another venue soon enough. I suppose you can still call it a win if you arrest Raven – though I doubt that is his real name.”

 

“What?” Lestrade blinked.

 

“Raven killed your victim,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

 

“How did you know that?” Anderson frowned.

 

“I observed. When John was in the ring, he was on the other side of us. He looked eager. There was fresh bruising on his knuckles, made from two nights ago. He’s the one that fought with the victim. Killed him in the ring that’s why people were giving him a wide berth,” Sherlock rattled off. “He was practically drooling when he thought the tattooed man was going to smash John’s head in with his boot.”

 

“Sherlock right,” John said, speaking for the first time. Gone was the commanding tone and back was the softness. “Ranger was bragging how I would be the second to die in the ring.”

 

“Right, well we’ll go arrest Raven then,” Lestrade said.

 

“See that you do. Good night, detective,” Sherlock said and with a firm hand on John’s back he walked them away to the nearest main road and hailed a taxi.

* * *

 

 

**John**

In the taxi they were silent. John was too busy cataloguing his injuries and trying not to re-imagine the fight he had just won. He had seen many fights like this over in Afghanistan. The men who were too excited by war picked locals to brawl with, gambling with supplies.

 

John never participated but he never stopped them either.

 

Before long they were pulling up to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock paid while John hurried into the apartment. He treaded carefully up the stairs and when he reached the top Sherlock was right behind him.

 

He was glad when Sherlock directed him to his chair and dashed off only to return a moment later with his first aid kit. John struggled out of his jumper and shirt, swallowing down his embarrassment as Sherlock helped him but soon found he didn’t need to be embarrassed with Sherlock.

 

He had shown Sherlock a side of him that he kept buried deep inside him. A side that he knew Sherlock hadn’t deduced. For the first time that night Sherlock had seen all of John Watson.

 

It had been Sherlock who helped him in that last moment of the fight. He had been fighting dizziness but he had heard Sherlock shouting above the crowd. Sherlock who had still come home with him.

 

He flinched as Sherlock started wiping the blood from his chest with a wet cloth he hadn’t noticed the taller man grab. His could feel the bruise that was already black on his stomach and new that he would be in for a few painful weeks. He focused on Sherlock instead of the pain.

 

The consulting detective was treating John’s wounds with the same concentration and devotion as he did with a case. He moved swiftly up John’s torso before he reaching his face. Sherlock hesitated, grey eyes flickering uncertainly.

 

John nodded once.

 

With care that nobody expected from the man, Sherlock wiped John’s face clear of the blood.

 

“I don’t think your nose is broken,” Sherlock said, breaking the silence of the flat.

 

“Doesn’t feel it,” John said. “Just bruised.”

 

There was silence again as Sherlock mopped up the last of the blood and then –

 

“What you did, in the ring.”

 

John shifted in his chair uncomfortably. They were going to talk about it. They were going to talk about the fact that John had violently and cruelly beaten another man and Sherlock would dig and dig until John would admit that he had enjoyed the fight. Had enjoyed the level of danger that surrounded him the moment they entered the underground fighting ring.

 

“It’s fine,” Sherlock said.

 

John blinked. “It’s fine?”

 

Sherlock smirked, a quick lift of his lips. “Yes, John. But don’t be repetitive, you know how it frustrates me to no end.” Sherlock face returned to blank but his eyes were shifting again. “I’m glad you can take care of yourself. I would be lost without my blogger. Very lost without _you_.”

 

And John new, he understood what Sherlock was saying. John lent forward and brushed his lips against Sherlock’s lightly. He felt Sherlock shudder and the taller man pressed his lips more firmly against John. He felt the detective collecting date – how John liked to kiss, how he tasted, how he was very much still alive and still there to feed him and call him brilliant.

 

Captain John Watson and Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes.

 

It was all fine.


End file.
